Sentiment
by Italian.CtrlFrk
Summary: Ciel contemplates his existence and finds himself repulsed at humanity, even in the middle of feeding. Of course, with Sebastian by his side, none of that really matters; but perhaps he's getting a bit sentimental. A brief character study on Ciel in the modern world. SebCiel.


Don't kill me! Please! I'm working on getting _For the Love of Slytherin _back up, but I'm reworking it all a little bit and haven't had a ton of time to write. It will be up soon, so keep looking!

Anyway, this was a little something I whipped up after rewatching the second season. I tried out a different writing style, and am not really happy with it, but hopefully it's not completely awful. The idea was a kind of character study on Ciel, in the modern world, and what he was like after so long of being a demon. I thought it was sort of clever; I would appreciate any feedback.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the lovely characters you recognize, just the plot.

Rated M for graphic depictions of violence.

Enjoy!

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I used to always drink tea; it was part of my daily life, something that didn't really even register with me anymore. I found myself too caught up in treachery and betrayal to observe it anymore than a cursory glance into the depths of a delicate china cup before I went back to orchestrating deaths and controlling lives. It seems ironic, then, that the first time I actually noticed it was the first time I didn't have it. And the more I studied it, the more I became disgusted with it; with the way it holds life together, as though it is a brittle glue that is the only thing keeping humanity's frail life balanced on the razor thin edge between glory and damnation. The first time I noticed tea was also the first time I grasped humanity, and the first time I understood how completely and utterly futile life is.

There is tea in front of me now. A strong Earl Gray; the drug that kept my proud country stuck together in dark times. I cannot find myself able to regard it with anything but contempt. I carefully clasp my hands and lean back lightly in my chair.

"Sebastian," I murmur. A quiet whisper of air, a minute flutter of paper, and he is by my side.

"Take this away," I say, gesturing carelessly at the fine china that holds the foul liquid. I have no need for it anymore - it will not occupy my soul, mind or body - and it has become bitter on my tongue over the years. The demon bows, and the tea is gone in a muted flicker. Sighing, I stand silently, feet hitting the ground in what should have been a loud thud, and walk to the heavy curtains. I draw them back slightly, allowing a single ray of late afternoon sun to slant into the room, and glance down at the crowded street. New York is by far the most interesting city that I have lived in for several decades, but I find myself growing tired with it already. Americans seem to have this idea that they are better than everyone else, when all they really do is hide their sins deeper than the rest of the world. It's a pity, but not a surprise. A human society not run and ruined by greed and envy would be a sight to behold. The curtain falls closed, plunging the room into a smothering, dim heat, and I run my hand slowly along the windowsill. Maybe we will go to Japan next - I here Tokyo is fascinating. Perhaps there I can actually get a decent meal or two.

"Sebastian, we are going out," Seconds later a black patch of cloth is fluttering down over my eye.

"Yes, bocchan. Where is it you wish to visit?" a silken voice asks softly from behind me as a gloved hand presses lightly into my hip. I let my fingers brush over it delicately.

"I have no preference," The hand slips up my side in a caress that is almost tender, and I exhale softly.

"Very well, my lord. I suppose it is about that time again," I can almost hear the smirk forming on the demons face, and, in silent disapproval, I brush the hand off of my chest where it has paused. Right where my heart would be, if I still had one. I scoff lightly.

"Don't tell me you're becoming sentimental, Sebastian," I say without any real malice. The hand brushes over my eye patch for a moment, and I tilt my head so that my lips graze the white fabric.

"Never, my lord," a quiet voice replies, and I press my lips against his hand slightly.

"Good," I murmur, before breaking all contact and walking to the door. I hear a soft chuckle from behind me, but I ignore it as I make my way down the hall and to the elevator. Although it is a rather tedious route to exit and enter the building, I find that doing things the human way alleviates a bit of boredom, if only because it takes much longer than it really should.

As I step out of the lobby, followed silently by Sebastian, I feel an odd wave of nostalgia for times when the air isn't filled with smoke and cities are smaller affairs. I ponder it for several seconds as the incompetent doorman apologizes profusely for almost shutting me in the door, before I push it from my mind. I have no use for feelings such as nostalgia; I never have. However, it does intrigue me. I find this era of technology vulgar and unappealing, but I found my own time more so. It is rare that I look back at my past and feel anything but contempt for it; there was nothing that I left behind that was truly important to me. No bother. It is of no significance, and so I walk from one moment into the next, the one creature who matters following closely behind.

"Bocchan, you seem unusually absorbed today," Sebastian comments lightly. I tap my lip softly.

"Yes, I suppose I am rather 'absorbed' today," I reply without much emotion, walking down the cracked sidewalk and carefully avoiding gum and cigarette butts.

"Are _you_ becoming sentimental, bocchan?" I send him a disapproving glance, and he gives me a small smirk in response.

"Don't be ridiculous Sebastian. I was just contemplating how thoroughly disgusting this city is," Sebastian wrinkles his nose slightly.

"I must agree with you, my lord. Americans truly are a repulsive bunch, aren't they?" I hum in agreement. However interesting living in New York has been, the meals have been absolutely nauseating, and I am not entirely sure how much more I can handle. That, however, is something that may not be helped even if we do move. Souls that are completely black are of no interest to me, but they seem to be the only ones that have been available for the past several decades. Oh well. There is nothing I can do about it now.

Sighing, I absently brush off a hand trying to sneak into my pocket. The thief sputters behind me, but I continue on my way, paying him no attention. Sebastian lets out a murmur of amusement, and I ignore him as well. I would never say this aloud, but I find myself slightly envious of the easy way he finds entertainment in the most mundane things. I wonder if I will find myself the same as I grow older; for the moment, however, I am stuck in a banal existence. Again a sigh heaves its way through my body, and I feel a light touch on my shoulder. It soothes me, and I breathe my appreciation, pushing such thoughts from my mind. They are useless, if engaging, and will only serve to be distracting tonight.

The sun is setting, and I can feel the last, dying rays hitting my skin as the buzzing of artificial lights makes itself heard. People are swarming on the streets, and I study those surrounding me with an apathy borne of immortality. One of them could be my victim tonight; _any_ one of them. I briefly entertain the idea of making a game of it; of targeting one and playing with it for a while, like a cat does a mouse before he devours his meal; but discard it almost immediately. While it would be thoroughly amusing, I find myself wishing to simply sink into a bath and feast on strawberries Sebastian dips in chocolate.

Perhaps I am becoming a bit sentimental.

The hand on my shoulder slips down to rest on the small of my back, and I step slightly closer to my eternal companion as we wait silently for the traffic light to turn green.

Perhaps we both are.

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The man screams in a most atrocious way as I plunge my hand into his stomach, and I let a small grin twist my lips. I always feel the most alive when I'm feasting. It may be the control I get from holding someone's beating heart in my hands, or the way Sebastian's perfect façade slips a little, allowing his hunger for a human and desire for a demon to show, or even the taste of a meal, no matter how completely disgusting it may be. Most probably, it is just because I am a demon, and demons take pleasure from causing others incomprehensible pain. No matter the reason, I find myself high on the smell of blood, and my other hand rips its way through the thrashing mans ribcage, the crack of bones tinkling pleasantly in my ears. I tear my way through squishy organs, agonizing shrieks reaching my ears as blood spurts up through the hole in his chest to splatter across my face, and grab a hold of his spine. My grip's a little slippery, but I manage to slash my nail through one of the vertebrae, slicing it cleanly in half. I savor the mans last wide eyed and tortured cry, then reluctantly pull my hands out of the rapidly cooling corpse. Crimson liquid drips from my left arm, which is covered in blood and bits of flesh up to my elbow, and I feel my fangs elongating as I lean in and lick a stripe up my arm before I suck a finger into my mouth. I can feel blood smeared around my mouth, and I lick my lips.

"Bocchan, you mustn't wait much longer to eat your fill; those creatures are already gathering. Vultures, truly," I turn my head to look at Sebastian, and smirk when I see the hunger in his eyes. I lay down, my body flush with the one beneath me, in a way that is almost intimate, and cradle the humans head. Nosing my way up the neck, I stop to lick one cheek, and hear a faint inhale from behind me. I give one last glance at my butler before I close my eyes and slant my lips against the mans. The soul leaks into my mouth, and I moan as it spreads like fire through my body. I lick the cold lips beneath mine, opening the mouth to better get a taste of that filling substance, and moan again as I feel myself thrumming with new energy. Finally, I pull away, wiping the blood from my mouth. I turn to see Sebastian looking at me with slightly narrowed eyes, and I sigh. The fun is over now. The game has ended. I lean up lightly, my still wet hand coming up to brush past Sebastian's cheek, and press my lips briefly against his.

"Come Sebastian, let's go home,"

A gloved hand across my lips, another in the crook of my elbow.

"Yes, bocchan."


End file.
